June 14, 2006

The corridor grew longer and longer. It never ended. My father's room was in the very back of the endless hall, and it took a lifetime to get to it.

My mind was racing as I walked the narrow corridor of death. As I entered the room I saw my mother's face and I knew what was about to hit me.

I asked her what news she had and the response I got hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Oh son, I don't want to tell you, not on your birthday."

From that moment on, I knew everything was about to change. My world turned upside down. I asked for the truth, and what came was more shocking then I expected.

It's almost inevitable for someone to have a goodbye they'll never forget. These certain goodbye's are the ones that will stay in your mind forever. The ones that while you wish to God to forget, you can't.

It's the one that makes you cry every time you think of it. The goodbye that makes you wish you had done things a little differently and treated that person a little better.

I can remember my day of infamy-as I've come to call it- vividly.

"The doctor is giving him till the end of the day, tomorrow if he stays strong."

How can this be though? We just went up to Houston to see what was wrong with him. Not to see him die. It was all so sudden. My mind was racing, and I couldn't believe what was happening to me.

My dad was dying? Dying?! This couldn't possibly happen to me, it happens to other people, right? Not you. Well, it can, and does happen. And I learned the horrid truth of life that day.

As I walked up to my fathers bed, I could see and feel the pain he was going through. With the little strength he had, he told me, "Happy Birthday." With all the pain I was feeling, I couldn't understand what was so happy about it?

Out of nowhere, as a sudden burst of life came to him he said, "Where are his balloons? The birthday boy needs his balloons." He looked at me, smiled, and went back to sleep.

The day went on forever. After some time, a priest came to read my father his last rights. That was it. The time was coming near.

They transferred my father to a hospice center in Houston. There was nothing more the hospital could do.

When we arrived at the hospice all we could do was wait. Wait for him to die. Wait for a miracle. Wait for an absolution. Seconds became minutes, minutes into hours, day turned into night, and night turned into day.

We had made it through the night. As the next day went on, I could feel the time was very near.

I walked into the room my father was in, and I told him my last goodbye. I told him it was okay for him to go, and I knew he'd always be with me. That was the hardest moment in my life. After that I ran out of the room as if in some sort of dramatic soap opera scene.

Sitting outside on a bench, time stopped for me, and I felt the exact second he left. Even though I wasn't there to see his last breath, I felt it with every inch of my body.

My father was gone.

It's been seven years now and not a day goes by that I don't think of my father. My birthdays are the worst. One birthday though will always stand out in my memory. While in my car, thinking of my dad and the events that happened a few years ago I looked up and saw some balloons in the sky. I knew what it meant.

The birthday boy got his balloons after all.

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